“What do you mean?”
Masters cocks his head. “He’s on my list.”
“What list?” I straighten and push his arm away from my head.
“Ace and I watch over the newbies, make sure they don’t get into trouble, know the unspoken team rules.”
He looks at me curiously wondering why I’m making a big deal of this. I shouldn’t but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Why is Jack on your list?” I snap.
“Because his grades are on the border of eligibility. I’m checking in to make sure he’s got all the help he needs to pass his classes.” He narrows his eyes. “Is that a problem?”
I paste on a fake smile. “Of course not, but don’t tell him.”
“Why not?”
“He's sensitive about that.” I jut my chin out. Why can’t Masters do as I ask?
He rubs the back of his neck. “Jack’s a smart guy. I’m sure he knows that he’s on the bubble. He could be an important part of our team this year. Last year we struggled with scoring. With Ace, Jack, and Ahmed, we have decent scoring options.”
“So you’ll stalk him?” My voice starts to get high.
“Nooo,” Masters draws out slowly. “I try to save that for girls I like.”
“I think you should go.” I cross my arms over my chest. Dating Masters would be like holding my hand over a flame. At some point, I’ll get burned. I don’t need that in my life.
17
Ellie
Game Day: Warriors 0-0
“I haven’t seen Jack around,” Riley comments as we settle in for Saturday’s game.
“He’s getting ready for the game.”
“Is it like this all year? They disappear for the weekend?”
I hide a smile at Riley’s disgruntled tone. Jack has become a regular fixture at the apartment. Sometimes it’s just him but often times he brings a teammate with him. Riley and I would have dinner with him or hang out, but on Friday the team left for the game and it’s gotten eerily quiet.
I haven’t seen Masters since I gave him the book back. I wish I didn’t regret that I pushed him away. Telling yourself that you’re doing the right thing and feeling good about it are two totally separate things. Eating broccoli is good for you, but it tastes like shit, and that’s pretty much how I feel not getting one flirty text from Masters or seeing him pop up around campus.
“From September through November they’re pretty busy, but Jack says he has the most trouble in the spring when there’s no rigid schedule. They have a thirteen week schedule with twelve games,” I explain. “One week is a bye where they don’t have any game and then the thirteenth game is the conference championship. If they win, and they should, then they go into a four team playoff for a shot at the national title.”
“Student athlete seems so glamorous. Full tuition scholarship, free tutors, first pick of classes, but it does seem like they work hard.”
“Very.”
We’d last seen Jack on Thursday, and he’d been hurting. Riley made him put his foot up and I got ice for his knee. The nonstop pampering probably made up half the reason he enjoyed coming over.
“How come you aren’t at the student center?” Riley shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth.
“I don’t like watching the games in public. If you go to a game, you have to sit with a bunch of people who don’t know the game, but think they know it. They’re yelling about the bad refs, or if your brother misses a catch, you have to listen to them talk about how terrible he is.” I shake my head. “It’s better at home.”
“I don’t know anything about the game,” she points out.
“Will you yell nonstop about how bad the refs are?”
She shakes her head. “No, but I’ll ask a lot of questions.”
“Fair enough. What do you know?”
“That there’s a quarterback, Tom Brady’s balls deflated, and there’s a Super Bowl.”
I stifle a laugh. “It’s a start.”
“Why do they hold hands when they walk to the middle of the field? Are they afraid they’ll lose each other? Do they play a game of Red Rover, Red Rover to send one of the Hawkeyes right over? And then if we win, we get the ball?” she jokes as Ace, the running back and three others walk toward the fifty yard line.
“It’s team unity. They’ll also slap each other on the butt all the time.”
We share a smirk.
“Where’s Jack?”
“Right there. Number 88.” I press pause and point to the screen. “He’ll be on the line of scrimmage where the center will hike the ball to the quarterback.”
“He looks big.”
“It’s the pads.”
“And I’m sorry to say this in front of you, but holy Christ, his ass is tight. They all have tight asses.” She shifts forward. “Why haven’t I watched this before?”
“You didn’t know.” I pat her back. “But now you do.”
“What does Jack do?”
“He’s a tight end. He’s responsible for blocking and catching the ball—usually he’ll run across the middle. The guys at the end are the wide receivers. They are usually the fastest on the field. The running back is the one behind the quarterback.”
“They named a position after his ass?”
I grin. “All sports are like that. Like MMA? It’s the most homoerotic sport on the planet. Half naked guys rolling around with their faces in each other’s crotch.”
“I’m becoming a fan already. And where’s your fiancé?”
I roll my eyes but scan the sidelines when the camera pans to number 55. “Right there.”
I freeze the screen. Masters has his helmet up, with the ear pads resting against his temple. His mouth piece is half inside of mouth, half out of it as he intently watches the action unfold. He looks…magnificent. The sleeves of his uniform are tucked up under his pads, and underneath the fabric, his muscles bulge.
The Warriors start off slow in the first quarter. The Missouri quarterback isn’t very good, but he manages to get lucky and run for about twenty yards. Three more plays and they’re in kicking distance. I curse when the forty-three yard try splits the uprights perfectly. On offense, the Warriors can’t seem to move the ball more than five yards. The team’s scoreless possessions before the first quarter ends.
During the commercial break, I rummage around our cupboards looking for something to drink with my Coke. I’ll need to anesthetize myself if the game continues like this.
“I’m guessing that was a bad period.”
“Quarter,” I correct her. “They play four quarters. And yeah, it was bad.”
Masters was right. They can’t take one game for granted. I watch as he walks up and down the sideline, taking the time to talk to his teammates. He slaps a couple of them on the helmet and squeezes the neck of another guy. The other players nod and smile at him. He’s not chastising them but encouraging them. Keep your heads up. We got this, I imagine him telling the guys.
“But it’s just one quarter, right?”
“This is college ball. Strength of schedule is really important, and if you play a weak opponent, you have to play really well. Dominate. And you can’t lose.”
“Not even one game?” She’s shocked.
“Pretty much. If you lose one game, there’s a real good chance you won’t make it to the playoffs, and that’s the only thing that matters in college ball.”
“Wow.” Her eyes go wide as she takes this new information in.
During the second quarter, the defense picks up. Masters opens with a sack, throwing the offensive lineman aside like he’s a piece of trash. Masters is on the quarterback before the guy can get his shoulders straight down field and just like that it’s second and twenty-three.
“What do the players say to each other out there?” Riley asks as we watch Knox jaw at the opposing side as he returns to the line of scrimmage.
“Probably something disgusting about their mothers.”
“Really?”
Maybe not Masters, though. He didn’t seem like the type of person to insult a player’s mom; insult the player yes, but not someone attached to the player. “Some guys do. Masters is probably telling the O-lineman that he’s soft and that he’ll spend a lot of time on his ass. Jack would tell the cornerback who covers him that he’s too slow and ask if he needs roller skates to keep up.”
Riley grins. “I wish we could hear them. That’d be fun.”
“Too much cursing.” I smile back. It’s fun watching with Riley. All last year, I sat in my dorm room and watched the games by myself. My roommate liked to sleep with the players but she sure as hell didn’t enjoy watching the game. I forgot what it felt like to have company, and how much nicer it is to share an experience with someone, even a bad one.
The first quarter field goal is the only score that Missouri manages to eke out. The Warriors defense, led by Masters, is stifling. If they aren’t sacking the quarterback, they attacked him as soon as the ball left his hands.
The team struggles on offense, but Jack makes a great catch in the third and runs it for another thirty yards before he’s stopped. They manage to punch the ball across the goal line three more times, and the game ends twenty-one to three.
Riley and I jump out of our seats and cheer as loudly as any of the fans at the game. It’s the most fun I’ve had watching one of Jack’s games in years.
We drew the short end of the stick when it comes to parents, but I’ve always had the team. You’ve only had me. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have another person on your side, Ellie. Besides, you could do a lot worse than Masters.
My eyes follow Masters around the field as he slaps helmets and gives one-armed hugs to his fellow teammates. He stops in front of Jack, whose face is lit up like a spotlight. He’s so happy. The two exchange a few words and something Jack says makes Masters laugh. Then the camera cuts away.
“Will they come home today?” Riley asks as we clean up the living room.
“They should.”
And maybe Jack will come over along with his teammates. Or maybe he’ll text me, say that there’s a party somewhere, and we should come. I’ll go and find Masters, we’ll get a little drunk, he’ll forgive me for my cold shoulder, and we can pick up where we left off.
My phone buzzes and my heart skips. It’s Masters.
Not getting out today. Apparently there’s bad weather coming in and we’re not flying.
No, just Jack. I try not to be disappointed at his words.
“I guess not.” I show Riley the text message.
Sweet catch in the third. And nice YAC stats. I type back.
“What’s YAC?” Riley asks peering over my shoulder.
“Yards after catch. The number of yards that a player gets after he catches the ball.”
Just in the third? I was killer all day! JK. Not gonna lie. It felt great. This will be a good year.
Jack and I exchange a few more texts and then I tuck the phone away. I can almost taste his happiness. Even if they did come home and had some raging party, I wouldn’t go, because I can’t trust myself around Masters.
“Hey, you okay? Is Jack okay?”
Riley touches my shoulder. I look down at her concerned face and the urge to confide in her nearly overwhelms me. I don’t tell her the whole truth but the burden of it is weighing me down. “Jack is on the bubble academically. He has problems with some of his classes and it brings his grades down. He’ll never win awards, but he’s not dumb.”
“And?
“And Masters apparently has to check up on him.”
She nibbles on her lip. “Why don’t you tell him that you’ll check up on Jack? That way Knox gets taken out of the loop.”
I stare at her.
“What?” She rubs her forehead. “Do I have ice cream on my face?”
“No. That’s a genius idea, and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”
“See?” she nudges me with her shoulder. “This is why it’s okay to share things. Two are better than one.”
The tension that set in on Monday eases. Maybe this is the way for me to have it all—secure Jack’s eligibility and give Masters a chance. So I take a deep breath and text him.
Great game. You guys played fantastic.
There is no response.
I only have myself to blame.
18
Knox
Post Game: Warriors 1-0
My phone is dead. Given how crappy the day has been going, I’m unsurprised. Game one is in the books with eleven to go. If we play like we did today in any of those upcoming games, we can kiss our national title hopes goodbye.
“You got a charge?” I nudge Matty. I don’t think I’ve gotten a text from Ellie, but that doesn’t stop me from obsessively checking my phone.
“No. Sorry, man. Mine’s on life support too.” He shows me his phone face. The battery indicator is red. “I’m working on a local meet up, and if my phone dies before I can get all the details locked down, I’ll be pissed.” He flips to Instagram where some busty brunette has posted a thousand selfies. “Like her?”
I shrug. She’s pretty, but she also looks like everyone else Matty has screwed in the last twelve months.
“How about her?” With a flick of his fingers, he brings up another profile.
“They look the same to me.” Lots of long hair, big boobs and tiny waists. They look kind of breakable. One thing I like about Ellie is that she’s solid. I don’t have to worry about holding back with her.
That is, when I get her. I haven’t heard from her since she gave me the book back. My guess is that she’s offended I’m keeping track of Jack. It’s not like I’m reading his answers or pre-grading his papers. Who’s got time for that shit? I’ve got my own classes and don’t need to add that burden.
But maybe she thought I insulted Jack, called him dumb. He’s obviously not. Our playbook is complicated and he’s had zero problems catching on. She’s mad about something. When my parents argue, my dad says that you have to give mom time to cool off.
So that’s what I’m doing. I figure it’s worked for my dad for nearly twenty-five years. Why not me?
The bus stops in front of the hotel, but before we get off, Coach stands at the front.
“No curfew tonight, but you guys screw this up and you’ll be required to be in your beds every night at seven for four months,” Coach threatens. “The team bus leaves for the airport at four in the morning. Anyone not on the bus will be suspended for the next game.”
Everyone promises to be angels as we file out and then mill around in the lobby while Stella gets everyone’s room keys.
“We’re meeting some locals at the bar next door.” Hammer jerks his head toward the lobby door.
I look at my dead phone.
“I’ll hang out for a bit,” I concede. It’s good for the team, I figure.
When Hammer raises his fist and yells, “Masters is in,” I know it’s the right call. Stella hands out the room keys but before I can head up, Coach grabs me. “Watch out for your guys.”
“I got it.” I nod.
Upstairs, I plug in my phone and exchange the suit for a gray workout T-shirt, jeans, and a pair of flips. Matty and Hammer have their Warriors T-shirt on. I make them change. No sense in advertising our team allegiance given that we spanked the hometown team.
While they switch out their shirts, I call Ty on Hammer’s phone since he’s the only one who had the good sense to charge it before the game.
“Good game, man,” he says upon answering.
“Thanks.” I throw myself on the bed. Ty had a game on Thursday night that they won. “We’re stuck here because there’s some bad weather in Chicago.”
He groans. “Fuck, that sucks.” No one wants to spend more nights away from home than you have to. It messes with your schedule. But teams are cautious about flying in bad weather given that if the whole charter goes down, you’ve lost the entire program. “You going out?”
�
��Yeah, with Matty and Hammer.” I rub a hand over my hair—the short cut ensures that it doesn’t totally look like ass since I don’t like to even brush it. Matty, on the other hand, uses more product than some girls. In fact, some of the girls he’s slept with give him tips on how to take care of his long hair.
“What’s going on? You sound uneasy. Was it the first quarter? You guys just shook out the dust of the off season.”
Ty’s attempt at encouragement hits off the mark. I’m not uneasy. I’m tense. The post-game high has worn off, but I’m still edgy because I can’t stop thinking about Ellie.
Tonight the guys will come back with out of town strangers, and given the location of our hotel, it won’t be college coeds either. Matty’s told me more than once he likes his women older. They know what they want and aren’t afraid to vocalize it.
“It’s the girl.” He sounds concerned.
“Yeah, the girl.”
“What happened?”
“I think I offended her.” I explain the Jack situation. “So I thought I’d give her some time to cool off, like Dad does.”
“You sure she’s the one?” he asks cautiously.
“Fuck, man, I’m not sure about anything right now. We played like shit in the first quarter. Against a better team, we might have been sunk. We can barely score and if our defense isn’t playing lights out then our chances of a title are gone.” I take a couple calming breaths. “And I’m definitely not sure about her.”
Then I think of the sharp set of her chin every time she says something that she thinks I’ll disagree with. The sparkle in her eyes when she talks about football—the sport she says is just okay. Right, and I’m a ballerina. The way her brother and her get along. They’re a unit like Ty and I are a unit. I’m not uncertain anymore.
I’ve always known what I want. From the minute I could walk, I wanted to play ball. From the moment I realized I could have dreams and make those dreams a reality, I vowed I’d play on Sundays.
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